


The Code-Heroics

by clowning



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, F/F, M/M, Multiple Inquisitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:40:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowning/pseuds/clowning
Summary: A qunari mage, an angry elf, and a noble fall out of the Fade.Now, stop me if you've heard this one before.(A novelization of the journey of my Inquisitors. You know how it is.)





	1. the three from the fade

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is something that I've been working on and tossing around for quite a while. I've got only a few final drafts for some chapters of this story, but the overall outline is just about done (the writing process whomst????), but I wanted to go ahead and post this and see if it's something that you guys would dig and want to continue reading. With that said, any and all kudos and comments/reviews would be SO, SO appreciated :)
> 
> hope you enjoy! :D 
> 
>  
> 
> (Titled after Robert Frost's poem, The Code-Heroics.)

**I**

Later on, after the scouts completed their routes, word traveled quickly through every makeshift camp, overflowed from lips and spilled into others seemingly every second. It was said that they walked out of the Fade, a triad of varying origins, that of which everyone spent every third breath speculating.

Snow fell relentlessly, piling on top of tents and tarps, falling into bowls of rations, and stinging cheeks right alongside tears. Tension weighed the air, a choking pressure as the people of Haven awaited the Seeker’s exit from the dungeons. The only relief from the pressure was the presence of one citizen next to the other, and so they speculated and gossiped, even if it was only to fill a chasm that could be felt by all. 

The wind howled, drowning out the murmuring of Haven’s residents, and all fell silent as a great crack rang out from the sky, shaking the ground. Then, a shout came from the edge of camp, “Recruits, with me! Weapons free!”

And then, a chorus, “Aye, ser!”

Thunderous footfalls connected with the ice on the bridge, packing it down and paving a trail. As what remained of the platoon of Fereldan recruits marched behind the commanding officer, down into the valley to face the creatures that fell from the Breach, the silence continued, filled only with the whistling breeze and the crackle of small fires dotted between abodes. Moments passed, as did whispered prayers for the soldiers’ safety.

And then, the chantry doors flew open.

**II**

It was cold, when the elf awoke. A bitter chill, a far cry from the warmth of the plains, bit into her leather jerkin and shook her, her muscles seizing in protest against the cold. Her knees ached, and her eyes were heavy, her body reluctant to emerge from what little rest could be had. As she fought her way to full consciousness, she became more and more aware of a great and warm presence at her back. She made to turn, and yelped at the sharp bite of metal at her wrists.

Eyes wide now, with a heartbeat painting a frantic tattoo behind her ribs, she drank in her surroundings as well as she could, thoughts clouded with panic. A glint of metal in the dim light, a guard’s armor burning orange at the behest of the torch he stood under, his shoulders broad and stance powerful. She couldn’t fight him, not outright, with the right distraction- but, damn, the room is empty. She gave another tug at her shackles, sharp canines biting down on her tongue. No such luck.

Her gaze darted about the chamber, desperate for a way out first, and answers second. She tried to crane her head back, to search for- anything, any way out. Behind her, the presence at her back grew warmer, and warmer, and warmer still, until she was sure that she was somehow bound to a raging bonfire-

“Wha..?”

The voice, female as far as the elf could tell, was groggy, and rattled and grated with disuse, the same as the chains as they jostled. She heard an intake of breath behind her, but before any further noise could be made, the guard raised his leg as high as his armor would allow, and brought it back down with such force that a vicious scream of steel on stone rang throughout the chamber. 

“ _Quiet!_ I’ll ‘ave no demonspeak from you _murderers._ ”

The presence- person- at the elf’s back stiffened ramrod straight, and still grew hotter.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed that she would manage to get back to her clan in one piece.

**III**

This was just his luck.

The stones he was wrenched against were the harshest cold, and every so often he could feel the scratch of rat claws at his tailbone, and his only hope was to arch his back as far as it would go, and even that much was a struggle, his manacles bound to a chain that cinched his waist and chafed. Every shiver resulted in a deeper bite from the steel, and a surer bruise that would mark his skin for ages. If he could ever even leave this musty cell in the first place.

His muscles flexed of their own accord, fighting both the chill and the torturous discomfort from every angle, and his breath was shallow, stifled and quick as he tried to recall… anything. Anything that could possibly inform him of his situation. This wasn’t _fair._ He didn’t _do anything._

He curled in on himself and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and bit down on his lips to still their trembling. He shook mightily, and no matter how much he tried or might wish it, he could not quiet the whimpers that wrestled from his throat, cannonfire in the deathly quiet that weighed the space between the surrounding stone walls. Even though the knight that watched him was impassive and anonymous under their helmet, his cheeks still burned with shame as the guard’s icy glare burrowed under his skin from the shadow of a visor.

He would not dare to look up, and so he held his stare at the moldy stonemasonry and hay, and watched his frustrated tears fall to the ground. With every quake of his chest, the chains dug deeper, and Kian was sure that he would never be free of them.

**IV**

The door to the dungeon shot open with such force that it slammed into the wall with a resounding clang, and then came swinging back at who had forced it open initially. A woman of especially impressive stature, with capable muscles evident even beneath her breastplate, shouldered her way into the cell with angry stomps and a glare that bade the elf’s spine to bend against her own will. 

The woman, her scarred face twisted into a horrible scowl, stormed forward and gripped the elf by the shoulders hard enough to bruise. The human woman shook her, and her chains rattled vigorously. She was vaguely aware of the person behind her turning this way and that, trying to get a view of the newcomer.

“I should just give the order to execute the both of you. The Conclave was destroyed, every man and woman who attended is dead, and we have to one to answer for this tragedy,” she let go and stepped around to both prisoner’s sides, watching them both with her hands clenched into fists. “Except for you.”

The elf scrambled, and tried to push as much of her genuine confusion into her words as possible, wading through the defiance slowly building in her gut that was sure to get her killed. 

“Ma’am- Ser, I haven’t killed anyone. I swear it.”

The woman gave a wry laugh, then wrenched her manacles up, and as if to damn her further, her fingers curled painfully inward, and an unfamiliar magic spilled from her pores. The elf’s throat went cotton-dry, and her panic returned a thousand-fold.

“Then explain this.”

Silence. 

“I… I can’t. I don’t even know what that is. Listen, I have no business with the shems- people- here, I’ve got no reason to hurt anyone! I only want to go back to my clan.”

The woman’s face remained angry, and wholly unconcerned with whatever excuse or lie the suspect night try to toss her way.

“You want to go back to your clan.”

“Yes-”

“And leave every family here broken, and without any means of fixing what you two have done in the first place!”

Any words the elf meant to speak died in her throat, caught by the woman’s words. The flame atop the torches crackled and sparked, and after a long moment, the person behind the elf finally spoke up.

“Ser. I don’t know this person, and I am certain that I have never met her before. But,” she drew in a shaking breath. “Whatever we did, or you think we did, I will be willing to help set it right.”

Their captor shook her head. 

“It will be easier to show you.”

And so they were made to stand, and marched out into the blinding light of day.

**V**

The dungeon door opened, just a slip, and a woman hidden by a hood slunk through the gap, footsteps soft. Her nose crinkled at the sorry smell of the room, but she continued on her path, down the set of eroded stone stairs, and to the cells where she would meet their third suspect. The walk down took much longer than it should have, and once she reached the bottom, the woman came upon the realization that she was tired. After it all, the shock, denial, and struggle, she was just… tired.

She took a moment to breathe, and then forged onward. 

Upon her arrival to the cell, she was saluted by the stationed knight. She considered him for a moment, and then gave a flick of her wrist. “Leave us.”

And with another salute, the knight took a post just outside, closing the door with his exit. The woman turned to her prisoner and regarded him with a cold and calculating gaze, analyzing every breath and twitch, filing them away for future reference should it be required. Perhaps it was the ringing in her ears, or her premature disposition that the prisoner would be an emotionless killer, that kept her from perceiving his crying until she was knelt at his level.

She furrowed her brows, but nonetheless pressed on.

“Tell me what you remember. How this all began.”

He did not look at her, and could not seem to get a reign on any semblance of coherence. She huffed and fitted a hand under his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. Immediately, she knew: he did not kill those people. Or, at least, did not mean to.

The prisoner was a sorry sight. His forest green eyes were bloodshot and glassy from tears, and they had stained his cheeks pink. He was young, from what she could tell; he looked no more than twenty years old, with stubble growing that didn’t much match his pretty face. His bottom lip trembled as he gazed up rather pitifully. She wrestled with two opposite instincts for a moment, before shaking them off an steeling herself, and asking again.

“Do you remember what happened?”

He sniffed, trying to pull himself together.

“I-I do-” he stuttered for a few syllables, before clamping his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked, his cheeks turning redder. He inhaled a deep breath before trying again. His voice cracked.

“I remember being chased, I’m not sure, it was… dark. But, then, a woman reached out and saved me… Please, miss, I don’t know why you have me chained, but I never hurt anyone.”

His eyes were desperate. “I would never want to hurt _anyone._ ”

His accent was thick and his hair well-kempt enough for her to read his Free Marches heritage, from a house of at least decent enough standing to afford good soaps. She let his chin go and stood, keeping her voice placid.

“Regardless of whether or not you intended to hurt people, they were hurt, and you are our best suspect.”

His shoulders drooped, and he looked as though he wanted to protest, to say anything, but she continued on before he could.

“However, there is still a chance for you to do good. We still need to right this wrong. We need someone to fix what has happened.”

And just like that, the prisoner brightened considerably, raising himself as high as he could and pushing out his chest. 

“Whatever it is you need, just say the word, miss.”

“Good. We’ll unchain you, and see what can be done.”


	2. the elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! so sorry for the huge dip in productivity when it come to putting out works, you know how it is: school, work, and all manner of shit you gotta do. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> please feel free to leave a kudos or a comment- every bit makes my day <3

**I**

 

A droplet of river water slid at a leisurely pace down Ghelya’s breast, and clung to her nipple. She giggled at Arlo’s lingering gaze, the gaze of a young lover, enraptured with their very first partner. She still had her armor on, too busy were her eyes skating up and down her naked body, dirks still in their sheaths at the back of her strong shoulders. 

The breeze, as gentle as a first kiss, rustled the leaves of branches that hung overhead, causing small ripples along the slow-moving water of the river. It tousled Arlo’s short hair, strands of rich, dark blonde coming loose to frame her eyes. The cool wind drew a shiver from Gheyla’s lithe frame as she strolled to the shallows of the river, her nipples stiffening to rosy peaks, begging for touch.

Arlo stepped forward to the bank, but went no further, unlike her gaze, which traveled greedily over the newly revealed flesh of Gheyla’s hips and beyond. 

The pair stood still, drinking one another in among the lush green of the forest. The world continued on without them, robins and jays singing their melodies to the soft rush of water and bated breath of two lovers. The water rushed on, the wind combed it’s way through the trees.

Having had her fill and growing impatient, Gheyla strode forward, hips swaying, and Arlo’s pulse went over-fast, a crooked and charming grin tugging at her lips. Gheyla’s hands reached up to cup Arlo’s jaw, directing her eyes to meet her own. She smiled, filled to the brim with affection so much her heart threatened to burst. Arlo lifted her hands to Gheyla’s red-brown hair, brushing a strand behind her pointed ear, so gentle were her deft fingers that the touch was barely there, a brief landing of a butterfly. She tilted her head down to press a kiss to Gheyla’s forehead. Gheyla slid her hands down her partner’s arms to find her hands, lacing their fingers together.

She gave Arlo’s hands an impatient squeeze, pressing her thighs together to slake her arousal. “Vhenan, touch me. Make love to me before you go.”

Arlo tilted her head down, so that their lips were but a hair’s width apart, and whispered, “I don’t want to rush. I want so savor you, so I still taste you on my tongue by the time I’ve reached the Conclave.”

Gheyla snorted and then laughed in earnest, her shoulders shaking.

“You charmer, you.”

She gave herself a moment for her laughter to still and her breath to return to her lungs. Arlo’s grin only grew wider, relishing the sight of her lover’s smile. 

Finally, she leant down to press a tender kiss to Gheyla’s lips. Gheyla stood on her toes, slinging her arms around her partner’s neck. She tangled their lips together, creating a rhythm of push and pull, scraping her teeth over Arlo’s full bottom lip.

Arlo groaned, heat pooling in her lower belly. She reached for Gheyla’s hips, then hoisted her up with a huff.

“Oof. You’re getting heavy, vhenan.”

“Hey!” 

Gheyla gave a playful smack to Arlo’s shoulder, but it did little to deter her wit. Arlo walked them to a strong oak that had grown next to the river, pressing Gheyla against the trunk. She gasped at the slight bite of the bark and the cold of Arlo’s armor. Arlo lifted a leg between her thighs, and Gheyla could not have been more grateful. She rocked her hips down and forward, leaving a trail of her slick on the leather of Arlo’s trousers, giving a moan with each downstroke.

Arlo kissed and nipped at her neck as she worked to find a good angle. She kissed up her jaw to her earlobe and husked in her ear, “I love you. You are all mine, and I am all yours.”

“Ahh-ha!”

“I’m going to leave marks all over you, so the whole clan will know exactly what we got up to.”

Arlo followed up, sucking marks on every inch of skin she could reach.

“Arlo!”

“And when I’m through, you can have your way with me.”

Gheyla moaned and arched her back, her whole frame going taut as she came. Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, her hips giving small thrusts as she rode out the last of her orgasm. After a moment, she patted Arlo’s chest, and the taller elf let her down, placing her gently onto the cool grass. 

As soon as her feet touched the ground, Gheyla reached for Arlo’s belt, tugging her trousers down a half inch and teasing at the skin there.

“You want me to have my way with you?”

“Yes, please.”

**II**

Arlo and Gheyla fell back into the lush and soft grass, the ink of the night sky speckled with stars with not a cloud to hide behind. Their chests rose and fell with easy breaths, shaking with laughs and the odd shiver at the proximity. They pulled what clothes they had over them as covers, fumbling the material as they pressed close not just to keep warm, but to feel the other for as long as they could. Gheyla traced her fingers over her partner’s collarbones, tucking her head under her chin. Arlo reached up to comb her fingers through her russet locks. Both kept their gaze turned toward the countless stars above.

A soft sigh fell from Gheyla’s lips. “I wish I could join you. It’ll be lonely without you, you know. All alone in the healer’s tent.”  
Arlo gave a playful scoff. “Oh, please. You won’t be lonely. You’ll have all the young children with scrapes to patch up.”

A cool finger flicked her forehead, right where the lines of her vallaslin intertwined. 

“Be serious,” she said, a bit miffed. It was difficult at times to ground Arlo long enough for her to grasp the weight of certain situations. Other times she just missed the cues entirely. Gheyla went on. “You’ll be away a while. I’m so used to having you beside me.”

Warm, muscled arms pulled her closer. “It won’t be too long. I’ll return before winter.”

“Yes, but I’ll have so many empty hours to fill.”

Arlo considered this for a moment, idly chewing the inside of her cheek. Gheyla spent most of her time treating any wounds or symptoms clan members came to her tent with, as well as keeping the herbs organized. A silence fell upon them for a time, not uncomfortable, but heavy with the truth that shems always happen to create matters that impede upon the lives of every elf. Arlo finally finds the words to say. 

“You know how these things get. An important shem dies, so they’ve got to hold a meeting to pick a new shem to replace them. My job is the quickest part, it’s the ride that’s long.”

Gheyla hummed, stretching upwards to kiss Arlo’s chin and bottom lip. “How about we write? I’ll send a messenger bird your way.” 

She shifted, and brought herself up to straddle Arlo’s hips. Arlo grinned, charmed and happy, and brought her hands up to rest on Gheyla’s hips. A breeze rustled her locks, her blue eyes glistened in the moonlight as a shiver ran through her. She cupped her lover’s jaw in her palms, caressing the ink in her skin.

“I’d like that,” Arlo murmured, tilting to kiss Gheyla’s wrist. “I’d like to write back, tell you about the things I see,” she traced her fingertips down the healer’s thighs to the back of her knees, pulling her forward and herself up. Lightning fast, she traded positions, slotting herself in between Gheyla’s legs. She leaned down to kiss her soft belly.

“I’d like to hear about how much you’ll miss me.”

Gheyla was startled only for a moment, surprise melting into a puddle of want. Her lips curled into a seductive smirk as she hooked her ankles around Arlo’s waist.

“How about I show you,” she husked, breath hot on Arlo’s neck, beckoning a rumbling groan from her chest. “ _Just_ how much I’m going to miss you.”

**III**

Arlo squinted in the harsh light that reflected off of the snow, shielding her gaze with her bound arms as she stared in awe at the sky, the clouds broken and cracked, seeping with a sickly, arcane green that dripped onto the ground below. She blinked, shook her head, as if trying to wake herself from an absurd dream. A quiet voice muttered from behind her.

“No fucking way.”

The elf turned to face her fellow prisoner, and was met with a set of broad shoulders clad in a leather coat. Arlo shifted her gaze upward. A Qunari, sharp jaw set, muscles tense under ashen skin, broke her stare at the sky, and looked down at Arlo, looming over her. Their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second, the elf felt a flash of something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time: fear.

The Qunari’s eyes seemed to glow, sharing the color and intensity of embers deep within a hearth. She stared back down at Arlo and gave her a look, a wordless question. Before she could respond, their captor took them both by their binds, and led them down a path that had formed in between tents that lined the open space outside the chantry. Arlo tried to take a breath, to steady herself, but she was crushed under the stares of countless shems, their eyes cold and angry. Arlo turned her gaze to her boots while the human woman spoke.

“The hole in the sky- we call it the Breach, caused by the explosion at the Conclave. So many were killed, and the remaining people here expect you to answer for what has happened.”

Arlo and the qunari shared one more panicked glance before they were led through the gates, and out into the valley.


End file.
